Fair Warden
by akabetty
Summary: A collection of shorts centered around Denna Tabris and Zevran. Some laughs, some fluff, some angst - just what you would expect.
1. Chapter 1

Mistress Tolvi's first lesson was to learn your mark. It was, simply put, to charm them, know them, even go as far as to show them your face. She said his smile and good looks would win him hearts and serve to make his job that much easier. If a woman, make her love you. If a man, make him love you more. Each were the same, in the end.

And so it was his Mistress' lessons burned fresh in his brain as he made his way to Redcliffe. That was where the Wardens had gone to last. You could hardly guess a Blight was ravaging the lands for the sun hung lazy overhead and the heat of the Summer was in full swing. And just under the prevalent scent of moist dog, wildflowers. Zevran took a deep breath as he walked, Redcliffe just over the rise.

"You will do well to be careful, Warden." A voice said just beyond the shadow of the trees. "Alistair may get the wrong idea of what you have done today."

Zevran could not believe his luck - he had expected to have missed the Wardens by a day or two, not to come upon them so unexpectedly. And it seemed the female was away from her group. Arl Howe had warned she and the former templar were surrounded by competent allies and were formidable in and of themselves. He flit into the shadows and dared a closer look, very mindful of the thick brambles underfoot and the shafts of light that cut through the tops of the trees.

"What have I done today, hm?"

The two women sat by a small freshwater pond. The human, the first voice, was neck deep in the water while the other sat naked as her nameday on a rock by the shore. She had a large bow on her lap and was set to work on repairing the string. She seemed disinterested in the soaking woman's conversation. And how beautiful she was to him, made of soft skin and fiery, almost unnatural red hair. It was true red, stark against even the brightest day and never taking on that sun-soaked visage of a lie. In the pale shafts of light amid the little copse of trees, the little elven woman squinted pale blue eyes, much the same as the fresh, clear water just below her dangling feet.

"Only that you have saved the _worthless_ lives of all those villagers, saved his little, _darling_ abomination of a nephew and spared the life of the soul-sucking Arlessa." The woman said before submerging her head and coming back up with a bemused and toothy-wide grin. "I do believe that, in Alistair's mind, he now has claim to you." The submersible woman seemed fairly amused by all this.

The elven woman on the rock snorted at the human woman's conjecture and shook her head. Her wild hair hung over her eyes and she whipped it out of the way as one would shoo a fly. As she moved through the little slivers of light, he saw pale silver lines across her body - scars, he knew them immediately. Whipping, knives, skewers - she seemed marked with them all. And they were everywhere but her face. His muscles hissed at the sight, feeling his own marred and swarthy skin prickle with knowing.

"We are speaking of the same Alistair, yes?" The elven woman crossed her arms over her bare chest. "The hapless, virginal and moronic templar?"

"The very same, Denna." The woman in the water chuckled. "How ever will you rebuff his advances? Please, do be gentle. He is the royal bastard after all."

The dark-haired woman laughed as she slipped under the surface again, sending up large bubbles filled with her amused giggle. The elven woman stopped movement, her fingers set in a rigid line against the grain of her bow. With her other hand she absently turned a little golden band around her finger. She stopped when the other woman removed herself from the water and began to wring out her hair.

"I was conscripted during my wedding." The elven woman said simply, eyes gone glassy and focused intent on the rippling water. The human woman stopped her ministrations and turned to watch the little elven woman who appeared little more than a girl-child than anything at this very moment, all laughter gone away. "Some _lordling_," the elven girl scoffed, "got into his head he could have a bride before her wedding. Took me, took my cousins …" the elven girl sighed. "My betrothed tried to save me and got himself killed."

"I … I'm sorry." the dark haired woman said but the elven girl held up a hand.

"Do not apologize for them." The elven woman scratched absently at her head and started to turn the ends around her long and knobby fingers. "Humans always feel such need to apologize for others, even if they do not know them or condone their actions." The Warden smiled sadly at the dark haired woman, showing the gap between her front teeth. "Besides, condolences do not fit your image, Morrigan."

"Still," the human began, "that _is_ something -" the elf held up her hand again.

"I killed the lordling and his bannermen. Cut off his head, bled the rest. _Slowly_. The guards came for me then, didn't care what the prig had done to me or my sisters. Duncan saved my life." The elven Warden leaned forward, dipping a hand into the water and she sighed wistfully. "Alistair has no claim over me, no one does, not after that."

She sighed again and stood, stretching languidly and showing all the curves of her lithe, muscular form. Her back was even more covered than the rest of her, pale skin that would have otherwise been luminescent was instead crisscrossed with scars of various length and width, some gnarled, some a clean thin line of silver where the healing took well enough.

"I'm sorry, Denna."

"Do not be. Wardens leave their past behind, no?"


	2. Chapter 2

"This is _foolish__._"

"Pardon?" Denna stopped dead. In the month that she had met Morrigan, she had hardly heard the woman speak out of turn at all. Nods, hums of approval, the narrowing of the eyes - she said more this way than any other. That is, in front of the others. In private, Morrigan adored the sound of her own voice. She had taken a certain fondness to Denna and confided her thoughts and feelings on a regular nightly basis - a ritual, as it were, while they bathed.

"This," the mage waved a hand, "is _foolish_." Denna regarded her carefully. The others stopped too, even in the early morning chill, just as the sun was still rising, they all came to realize quite late that Morrigan was speaking directly. Not only that, but actually _arguing_ with Denna - something even Alistair, the only other Warden in all Ferelden - simply did not do. Why they did not attempt to topple one another for leadership, Denna could never understand. She had never staked a claim to lead them, nor shown any interest, yet here she was, band of miscreants in tow. And how amusing that was - an elf, leading a band of humans in a futile effort against the Blight. History would make this a laughable tale, she was sure.

"You will have to be more specific." Denna spoke with a slight huff and idle roll of her shoulders.

"We are going to get these Ashes, or at least, this is what you think. But this foolishness will not get us closer to having armies." Morrigan cocked her head to the side and spoke without inflection, almost as though she were reading from a book.

"We need Eamon's support -" Alistair took a slight step forward, attempting to blockade any nastiness the witch may or may not unleash. For his efforts, Denna placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back, intent on letting the buxom, dark-haired woman speak her piece.

"I am not speaking with _you_, Alistair. I am speaking to _Denna_." Morrigan fixed the man with a look that could set his skin on fire and Denna suppressed a smirk. "And what if these so-claimed holy relics do not cure him, hm?" Morrigan crossed her arms, fixing Denna with the same cold fire stare that made the elf want to take a cautionary step back. She did not, lest she encourage this further.

"It is a risk we will have to take." Denna shrugged and blew an errant strand of hair from her eyes.

"And if this does work, what then? We cannot know for sure that this man will help us at all. What if he is loyal to Loghain?" Morrigan's hands went into the air, gesturing wildly. "What if this is a trap?" Denna blanched at the sudden drop in octave of Morrigan's tone. She had a shaky edge to her voice that previously Denna was not sure the woman was even capable of producing. The others stopped all their movements and some their breathing at the sight.

"_Help__! __Help__! __Please __help__! __Bandits__ …_" A girl came from the turn in the road, screaming and flailing. She tripped with nearly each frantic step and did not stop until she came crashing into elf & mage, respectively. They were both knocked aside in a tangle of limbs and silk and leather.

Denna pushed herself from Morrigan's chest and lap, offering a hand to the now dust covered mage. Morrigan's pale yellow eyes were wild and sought first the small thing that had flown into them. Denna had an inkling of a spell forming on Morrigan's lips and hands, so she grabbed for her wrist. It stalled the torrent of rage that would have killed the little peasant girl. The elf's fingertips tingled with the beginning of a spell and faded to a foreign numbness in an instant.

"S-Sorry, so sorry messere! But you must help me! Bandits have attacked my family's wagon -" The little blonde, clad in a plain brown cloth bowed deeply to Denna and Morrigan, and hid her eyes from the sharp stare she received from the mage. She let out a sob that reverberated obnoxiously in Denna's head. It was far too early for this.

Denna followed the girl first, everyone else falling in step behind her. All but Morrigan. Denna realized this, near immediately, the stalwart silence and pointed glare spoke volumes and made Denna's skin itch. "You speak of traps, Morrigan? How … _coincidental_." Denna backpedaled with a slight smirk and Morrigan fixed her with an even more frigid, insolent glare. But the mage followed suit, falling in easy step with the elven Warden.


	3. Chapter 3

When all was said and done, Denna stood with Alistair and Morrigan at her flank, all completely soaked in grime and blood and muck. The others plucked around the outcropping of road, listening & watching for more of the assassin's men to show. Between the three lay the presumed leader, unconscious and most certainly not dead as he rightly should be.

Denna looked to the three people she trusted implicitly, despite all better and sound judgements. "Thoughts?"

"Kill him and be done." Remarked the witch.

"For once we agree." Added Alistair.

"That's it?" Asked Denna, now seething. "Kill him and be done? No interrogation?"

"He's an assassin, Denna." Alistair said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"And we at least talked to the last one we met, yes?" Denna retorted, recalling all too well how much she had wanted to slice up the throat of the one who had come for Leliana.

"You are the last two Grey Wardens in all Ferelden," chimed Morrigan. "Do you have this luxury of deliberation when the Blight is so apparent? How many more villages are you willing to pass through where there are no survivors? Is time not the very essence of our endeavors?"

The witch had a fair point, Denna hated to admit. And even she had no solid reason as to why she wanted him to live, why it felt such a travesty to let him die. Someone would likely say it was because he was an elf. They were always expected to treat their own better than the rest.

"What if there are more?" Denna said quietly. "There could be others. We could find out."

"Do as you will, Denna." Alistair huffed out as he walked away. He had been in sour spirits since leaving Redcliffe. And Denna thought he would have been pleased, they were going to heal his Arl Eamon. She watched him go, eyes lingering on his sagging shoulders a moment longer than she should have. Morrigan nodded but did not move, likely intrigued to see what the assassin would say.

"Anything _else_ to add, Morrigan?" Denna sat on her haunches and tucked her fiery hair behind her ears. The witch did not answer outside of a pursing of her lips and a taut hand tightening around her carved wooden staff.

Denna looked on his face - tanned from the sun, a fine sheen of dirt that suggested time on the road, thick lashes not very common on men, and a swirling tattoo that encompassed the left side of his face. It looked not unlike a Dalish clan marking, but Denna was sure it was not. He was also listening, or at least had been when Alistair made his broody show of an exit. She smirked at that, knowing she had caught him in his act.

Denna reached out a hand but before she came within an inch of his nose, the assassin's eyes opened and squinted against the midday sun.

"_Ohhh__,_" the assassin groaned as he fluttered those long lashes over his pale green eyes. "I'd rather thought I'd wake up dead, or not at all as the case may be."


	4. Chapter 4

Mistress Tolvi's second lesson was to never be caught. If you were, you were to die. It seems he had come to a point in his life where only the first lesson mattered as he found himself sitting among a colorful group who, just two hours previously, he was attempting to murder. The Warden, Denna as was her name, had even cut his hands free. She had not yet returned his weapons, but that was not a chief concern. He was simply in shock that she had listened to his selfish plea and spared his life.

He would certainly not have spared his own life.

As soon as they returned to their small camp, where a pair of dwarves were waiting anxiously, the Warden walked off. She melted into the tree line with a large mabari hound at her heels. The man, the other Warden, watched her go with a furrow in his brow. The others ignored her absence and set to work setting tents and beginning a fire. Only the Orlesian acknowledged his presence, offering him a place on her section of log by the fire..

When the Warden returned, she was covered head to toe in mud and brambles and she carried four large hares and a pheasant. She had a cheeky, satisfied grin and tossed down a hare for the mabari, who gobbled it greedily.

Then, she set to work. He was mesmerised. With expert hands she cleaned the rabbits and set to work on the bird, careful with every feather. She set each clean and solid black plumage carefully in a piece of scrap cloth and wrapped them when she finished. The Orlesian joined her at this point, adding a pair of hands to the meal. They diced and spiced, chatting of nothing as they worked. It was fluid between them, many nights an obvious testament.

"Are you hungry, Zevran?" The Orlesian asked.

He nodded and caught the eye of the elven woman. She looked away as soon as he realized.

"Then you are in for a treat. Our Denna is a very good cook."

* * *

"Are you sure we can trust him?"

"No."

"Then why did you let him go? Let him join us?"

Zevran listened, waiting for her to answer the question he himself had been wondering through this very strange evening. She had released him, fed him, offered him his own tent and returned his blades. The Warden Denna was something else, indeed. She showed him such an immediate trust that, thoughts of slitting her throat while she slept seemed foolish.

She did not answer the other Warden.

"He will try to kill us."

"No, he will not."

"He's an _assassin_, Denna! It's what they do."

"Then you do it, Alistair. If you are so bent on ending his life, go on then."

He heard the heavy gait of the man stalk off. Zevran could hear the slump of the man's shoulders and feel the defeat roiling around him.

_She __never __answered __the __question__._


	5. Chapter 5

He awoke just before dawn and heard the sounds of sleep still full through the camp. He threw on a pair of loose trousers and stepped out, intent on enjoying a moment of solitude before facing his first full day with the Wardens. Instead, Denna sat by the dwindling fire, dressed in full leathers and mabari patiently at her feet.

"Good morning, Warden." He said as he stretched and smiled.

"Morning." She scratched behind the mabari's ears and he whimpered happily. "Do you know how to use a bow?" She asked.

"I've some practice, Warden. Why do you ask?"

She smiled and stood, mabari as well matching her motions. "You're coming with me. Hunting." She tossed him a quiver and a shortbow cut of whitewood. It was worn with use but still a solid weapon, made more for culling game than assassinations.

"Try to keep your shots in the head, preserve as much meat as possible. Sten can really pack it away." She said as they walked toward the trees.

"Sten?"

"The qunari. You _may_ have noticed him." She said with a slight chortle.

As they broke through the initial line, the mabari bolted from her side and they were alone.

"I've seen deer around here before," she whispered not an octave above the whistling birds and rustling squirrels. "We should be able to bag at least two."

Zevran cocked his head to the side and watched her with unblinking eyes.

"What?" She raised her brows high into her humid hairline. "Got something on my face?" She rubbed the tip of her nose with a subtle quirk to the sides of her full lips. .

"No, Warden -"

"Denna."

"No, Denna," he really enjoyed the sound of her name on his tongue. "But I must confess, I have never hunted wild game before."

She blinked once, twice and then sputtered into laughter that startled a cadre of nesting birds from a nearby bush.

"You're joking. How, by the Maker above, did you eat if you've never hunted?" She wiped fat tears from the corners of her eyes.

"I grew up in a city, my dear Denna."

"_So__?_" She snorted. "I grew up in Denerim. Did the lordlings toss down their table scraps in your fair city of Antiva?"

"It is not that way for Crows." He shook his head, fighting the urge to join her in her laughter. "We are highly regarded."

"Oh well, beg your many pardons, messere." She bowed deep and mockingly. "I didn't know I was among _such_ privilege." She bit her bottom lip to control the smirk from spreading - it still went to her eyes. "_Oh__,_" her bemused tone was like music, "don't put on such a sour face," she slapped his shoulder playfully. "Come on, it isn't so hard."

He followed her easily, marvelling over the infectious quality of her voice. The Wardens were lucky to count her among their ranks.


	6. Chapter 6

"That," said Alistair, "is a dragon."

"It is." Said Denna. "Do you think it knows we killed its priests?"

"Could we not just, sneak past it perhaps?" Zevran said next.

"I don't think we should just leave it there." Denna responded. Her eyes were anxious and her hands white-knuckled around the neck of her bow.

"I should think not." Scoffed Morrigan.

"Right then," Alistair unsheathed his sword, prompting Zevran to do the same with his daggers. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

And so they charged.

The great winged beast circled them, bathing the ground with a wash of fire that melted the fresh snow on contact. Denna unleashed a volley of arrows, nicking its wings and bringing it down to the ground. Morrigan rained down lightning and the beast slowed, but not so much and Alistair tried to keep its maw from unleashing another torrent of heat. Zevran went to work on its heels, hacking away with seemingly no result.

Time seemed to stop as they went - arrow after arrow, spell after spell, slash, stab and hack.

He heard as though it were a whisper, Denna call out that she was out of arrows. The dragon was skulking toward her, bleeding from all the little wounds they had been able to inflict. It snarled smoke and roared and Denna danced from its mouth. He heard her curse, or it could have been his own voice, it was all lost in the whirlwind of battle.

Then he saw her jump.

She stood on its neck as it reared back and thrashed wildly. She held on, grappling on of its horns and drew her small hunting knife. He heard Alistair call out next and he saw Morrigan shift into a swarm of stinging bugs as they both charged the flailing creature. Denna held on though, and her little blade glinted sharp in the high sun. Morrigan's bees went for the eyes and Alistair's blade began puncturing the dragon's chest. Zevran, for his part, continued work on the legs, trying to throw it off balance.

Denna bellowed and Zevran looked up to see a flash of red hair up over a set of worn leather boots. The dragon reared back, mouth slung wide in a roar that came more like a shriek. Zevran, Alistair and Morrigan kept at it, however, despite the cold sensation creeping down their spines.

"Do you see her?" Alistair called over the din.

"No," Zevran responded. He swallowed back an uninvited panic and kept at his work. Not that there was nothing to be done at the moment – while the creature shook the ground with frantic feet and rained down molten flames from nearly every direction. Minutes crawled by, feeling weighty like hours spent in slow motion. Every slice and stab of Zevran's blades seemed to take more and more effort as the beast refused to die.

Finally, Zevran caught a glint of steel and plate charging for an exposed neck and he saw the long, gilded blade sing through the air as it lay waste to its mark.

Morrigan shifted back to normal – whatever constituted as normal, anyway – and stood between the pair of blood & grime-soaked men. While they heaved and gobbled breath as though it were their last, the yellow-eyed woman craned her neck and plodded about the dragon's corpse with half interest.

"Where is she," Alistair hissed between a wheeze.

"Over here," Morrigan called, leaning down toward a small, crumpled mass near the dragon's unmoving feet. The ground still roiled slightly, even as the snows waned around hot rocks scorched black in parts.

"I'm all right." Denna coughed and sputtered, sitting herself up as Morrigan hefted her shoulders. She groaned and winced at a stray hand across her midsection, blinked heavy lashes, and spit ever so delicately a glob of blood and saliva.

"Are you bleeding mad?!" Alistair yelped, half-peppered with an anxious chortle. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Denna pushed free of Morrigan's tightening grip and offered up a tired, yet lighthearted smile toward the panicked knight. She marched up to him, as best she could considering the battering she took dancing along the dragon's long neck. "I hope that is a 'Thank you, Denna' Alistair." She put a pair of shaking hands on her hips and let the grin spread just a touch further.

"Don't do that again," Alistair shook his head and turned, bringing a hand to his face to cover the obvious red shade brought on to his face.

"No promises," Denna stood at his side and slapped his shoulder. "Come on, we better get moving."


	7. Chapter 7

"I sense your regret. It is very strong." The spirit shook his head and took a slight step forward, meeting Denna's pale blue eyes as he spoke in ethereal, cropped syllables. Zevran could see her shoulders go on guard and as the spirit edged toward her, she slid backward. "You wear his ring – is it sentimentality? Is it to remind yourself of your failings?" There was no malice as he spoke, it was odd – Zevran did not follow the line of questioning, but Denna's fingers lacing with his own was enough to know that absolute truth was being spoken here.

"I was not fast enough." Her voice, normally sweet as sparrows, came in a hoarse whisper.

"But the Lord would still be dead, at your hands, Shianni's or your beloved. Is this not true?"

"Yes," Denna hung her head.

* * *

_Are __you__, __are __you_

_Coming __to __the __tree_

_Where __they __strung __up __a __man __they __say __murdered __three__._

They all moved away from the Guardian's chamber with heavy feet. Even Morrigan seemed ill at ease. The song came soft at first, in the voice of a little girl, her echoes bounded off the crumbling stone walls. Denna's hands had been warm and her eyes so understanding he could not look on them. Alistair had only eyes for his boots and the slumped form of Denna's shoulders. Zevran knew then the knight loved her.

_Strange __things __did __happen __here_

_No __stranger __would __it __be_

_If __we __met __up __at __midnight __in __the __hanging __tree__._

The girl's voice slogged through the long abandoned chamber, growing more audible the further they pressed on. Denna seemed slowed by the sound and her eyes went vacant at a high note that seemed so ghastly in the rotting place. A second voice, more refined, joined the first.

_Are __you__, __are __you_

_Coming __to __the __tree_

_Where __the __dead __man __called __out __for __his __love __to __flee__._

"My mother used to sing this song." She said.

"This place is full of memories." Remarked the witch.

_Strange __things __did __happen __here_

_No __stranger __would __it __be_

_If __we __met __up __at __midnight __in __the __hanging __tree__._

_Are __you__, __are __you_

_Coming __to __the __tree_

_Where __I __told __you __to __run __so __we__'__d __both __be __free__._

Denna choked back a sob and had to stop to lean against the wall. Only the second voice remained. The song sounded hollow with only one voice, ghastly and cruel in the heady din of the ruin.

_Strange __things __did __happen __here_

_No __stranger __would __it __be_

_If __we __met __up __at __midnight __in __the __hanging __tree__._

"Denna?" Alistair's eyes pleaded with her but she shouldered past him down the winding hall.

_Are __you__, __are __you_

_Coming __to __the __tree_

_Wear __a __necklace __of __rope__, __side __by __side __with __me__._

_Strange __things __did __happen __here_

_No __stranger __would __it __be_

_If __we __met __up __at __midnight __in __the __hanging __tree__._

The hall ended in a large circular room. In the center a woman sat tending to a small girl just as ethereal as she. The two women had the same hair, like hot ember and the older one was singing to the child. Denna's feet stayed and would not budge further into the room. She merely watched with unblinking eyes as the older woman finished her song.

"All done, Fel'Denna. Let me see you." The little girl sprung to her feet and twirled, swinging the braids around her. "Oh, look how beautiful!"

"Mamma?" The little girl looked to the door where they stood, beaten, bloodied and inside themselves. "Who are they?"

"Friends have come, Fel'Denna. Go on, show your father your pretty hair."

The ghostly older woman stood and straightened her long peasant dress and the child faded away. Still, Denna did not move from her place at the door. If anything, she seemed smaller than the child who had just disappeared.

"My daughter has grown into a fine woman, I see." Said the woman. "Come, let me look at you."


	8. Chapter 8

No one spoke on the road down the mountain. Denna stayed a good distance ahead and was obviously shaken from the ghost of her mother and Andraste's many, self-flagellating tests. Zevran, Alistair and Morrigan kept their thoughts closely guarded as well and it seemed that the questions of the Guardian and Denna's mother were more at hand than the discovery of Andraste's ashes. The holy woman's bones could not compare to their collective loss or, in the case of the yellow-eyed witch, the lack thereof.

The Orlesian bombarded Alistair with questions upon their return to camp, the qunari stared and the merchant dwarves kept their distance. Zevran found his way into his tent and collapsed on the furs, his mind plagued with visions of Rinna bleeding out at his feet.

Denna should have killed him. He deserved it. He would rather be dead and gone then have to keep on living without her.

Zevran curled on his furs and clutched at the ache in bones.

"What do you mean, you're leaving?!" Alistair's shout opened his eyes and turned his ears toward the raucous sound.

"Farkas -" he heard her voice, "Come." The mabari woofed and plodded away from the camp, likely after his mistress.

"Denna," Alistair shouted again. "Denna, wait!" Zevran heard the man's heavy boots sink and stick in the wet ground. "Denna - _Denna__! _Don't go!"

He could not blame her. He saw the shade of her mother, heard it speak.

He grabbed his leather satchel and began to fill it with his meager belongings. Most had already been buried, next to the place where Taliesin had buried Rinna. All in all, it took less than a solid minute to gather up his two sets of clothing, whet stone and soap. Zevran exited his tent before Alistair had even pulled himself up fully from the ground.

"Zevran," said the Orlesian when she noticed him. "Where are you going?"

"My loyalty is to the Warden Denna. If she is gone, so well am I."

He nodded graciously to each of them in turn and head off into the trees.


	9. Chapter 9

"_My __daughter __has __grown __into __a __fine __woman__, __I __see__. __Come__, __let __me __look __at __you__."_

"_Mamma__ …"_

"_Don__'__t __cry__, __my __little __one__."_

"_But __Mamma__ -"_

"_Hush__, __Fel__'__Denna__. __You __are __a __woman __grown __now__. __No __sense __in __dwelling __on __the __dead__."_

"_I __miss __you__."_

"_I know, sweetling."_

Denna walked with no destination, mabari dutifully by her side. Her mother's shade was resolute in her mind's eye, smiling and watching. She had never been so still in life. In the six years since the purge, Denna had refused to believe her mother dead. She had seen it happen, watched the guardsman cut her down and the rabid hounds take off with the pieces.

There had been a fire and it had spread so fast through the shoddy Alienage homes. The dry wood took the flame so easily and forced them all to scatter. But, no one knew what to do. There was not enough water, safety limited as the fire kept consuming all it touched.

Soris held her back. Soris pulled her away and gathered up Shianni who was such a small thing then. Velandrian and Father met them at the corner alley, just by the hole in the wall where Denna would leave the Alienage to hunt in the King's woods. Denna held Shianni's hand and they left, barely able to keep their eyes forward. Had they looked back, they would have been lost.

Farkas whined at her feet. She had not realized she had stopped walking. She had come to a road just outside the dense wood. North, she knew, lay Denerim yet untouched by the Blight. South lay only ruined and ravaged land. She could not go either way so she stepped across the road and entered the next patch of forest.

It was a long while before she realized there were other footfalls behind her. She slowed her walk and took out a piece of dried meat which Farkas devoured in a swallow. It seemed to renew the pup's spirit. Denna did her best to ignore her follower, thinking it was Alistair or Leliana come to fetch her back. Just as she could not go North or South, she could not go back to _them_ either.

As luck would have it, Denna came upon a stream. It was lined with boulders, some covered in lichen and others clean from the constant flow of water. She perched herself on one and waited. Farkas took a spot at the base of the boulder, sitting on his haunches with ears and eyes on alert. Whoever it was, was close. They would come upon her in less than half an hour.

"_Braska__, __bloody __brambles__ -_" she heard come over the sound of the stream.

"Zev?" She called out, knowing that accent anywhere.

"Yes, my Warden?" He melted from the dense trees and carefully stepped to the base of her boulder perch. He smiled at her, albeit rather halfheartedly - she suspected he was not in full spirits either.

"What are you doing here?" She drew her knees closer to chest. "Have you come to bring me back?" She knew his answer before he gave it.

"Do you _want_ to go back?"

Zevran set down his satchel and made a rather valiant attempt to climb the rock to join her. It was too slick, however, and Zev a city boy through and through. His pretty hands could find no purchase. Somehow, the vision of his concerted face and many curses and grunts left Denna laughing to the state of tears. She deftly hopped down and he caught her though she didn't really need the assistance.

"Such a city boy," she cooed, lingering in his arms longer than was necessarily proper.

"Do not laugh, fair Warden -"

"Denna." She corrected as her eyes trailed the path of his fingers catching with her own. They twined together nicely and significantly more appealing than the comforting clutch & reassurance he had offered back in the Guardian's chamber.

"… _fair __Denna_," His thumbs traced over her fingers absently. "City boy though I am, still I tracked your nonsensical track through these woods."

"Only because I stopped."

"Ah, but you do not know where to go, so it falls you _would_ stop." He said as he poked the tip of her nose. "Do not look so displeased, I have not come to take you back as you think."

"Then, why are you here?" Curiosity flooded her cheeks and painted them faintly pink. She leaned back on her heels and then forward to the tips of her toes, willing herself not to get lost in that heady scent she craved to drown in.

"I pledged myself to you, no? This arrangement has ended so suddenly?"

"You pledged to help me defeat the Blight. I'm not …"

"Not a Warden any longer? I assumed one could never be _not_ a Warden once the Order had you."

"I can't do this." She huffed. "I can't keep on …"

"This is why I followed." With a gentle touch he turned her to face him. Instantly her nose was assaulted with the smell of leather and clean water, wretched man did so on purpose, she was sure. "Because we are the same, you and I." His smile had turned sad and it was something so markedly different than his usual lascivious grin. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry was I, I could not travel both. And be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could."

"I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood and I, and I - I took the one less traveled by." Denna answered in kind, confusion replacing her curious, cheshire grin.

"You know the song?" He asked, eyes wide in surprise.

Denna nodded. "Zevran …"

"Hush, mi amora," he pressed his head to hers and shut his mossy green eyes. "I believe we are having_ 'a moment'._"

She smirked and choked on her laugh, rather unsuccessfully and sputtered into fitful giggles. Zevran gave his best petulant scowl before joining her in the revelry. Farkas bounced around them, confused at their sudden shift in emotions. She was practically sobbing when they finally stopped.

"_Oh_, I needed that." She said breathlessly. Zevran rested hands on his thighs and was taking in deep lungfuls of air. He _hmm'd_ his agreement and looked up at her, beautiful eyes raised to her in question.

"We shall be going back, then?"

"Not just yet," Denna said, with an air of mischief he snickered over. "Let them think we've run like the filthy, scheming elves we are."


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, that's it then. Dwarves or Dalish, Denna?" Alistair asked. Geographically, Redcliffe was symmetrically between the forest in which the Dalish clans dwelled and the mountain in which to enter Orzammar.

"Thoughts?" She turned to their companions.

"The Dalish would have moved with the winter on its way." Chimed Morrigan. "They'll not return until next season." The witch shrugged.

"The mountain will be impassable in another week." Added Wynne, the older mage come from the Circle Tower. "We would be wise to make our way to the dwarves."

"Orzammar it is, then." Denna said as she rolled the map and stuffed it into her pack. "Everyone get some rest, we'll head out at dawn."

Arl Eamon had given them all rooms in his castle and after so long sleeping on the road, amid all manner of biting creature and errant stone, it was a welcome reprieve. The genial nobleman said he owed the Wardens so much more than that, but could do nothing until the treaties were honored. He was in the fight to stop Loghain, however, as soon as they were able.

Denna was sluggish as she shut the heavy oak door to her room. It was larger than her family home in the Alienage, and warmer too. She was not comfortable in it. At all.

She placed her scuffed and stuffed satchel on the desk and turned to see the copper bath had been filled with steaming water. She stuck a hand and found it still scalding, so she resolved it was time for a bath. Her shoulders had developed a permanent ache and all the muscles under her skin pulsed painfully even as she stood still.

Denna sunk to the neck in the steaming water, letting the heat of it wash through her aching parts. Farkas was asleep by the fire, puppy legs kicking out in his dreams. She envied him, able to pass out so easily what with all that had transpired in two months.

_Two months_ … Denna could hardly believe so little time had passed. It seemed years ago she was standing on the dais next to Nelaros, ready to be his bride. She had been a different woman then. Only Zevran made her feel that way now, that which she could not even name – to call it giddy would be an overestimation. _It had to be_, she chided herself. All the man had to do was smile and she was put at ease. And it likely meant nothing at all, when Denna considered it. Though, she _had_ spent more than one night in her tent wondering if that is how Nelaros would have been. She liked to think that yes, he would have been just like Zev.

But that was an unfair feeling. Zevran was not Nelaros and that would never change. She loved the idea of him, not he himself. So she could never tell him or submit to his halfhearted flirtations - even if she wanted to, desperately. Denna could only be thankful he had never noticed, or if he did, he had the mind to keep his lips sealed.

Eventually, she knew all too well, she would no longer be able to resist his offers. Then she would truly be in a heap of trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

Zevran had grabbed a book from Arl Eamon's expansive library, but he was listless. All the words jumbled together and he found himself still on the first page well after two hours. He sighed and stood, taking care to stretch slowly and evenly. He would need to be loose, tomorrow they ascended the Frostback mountains to seek out the dwarves.

Two months ago he had been searching for death. Actively seeking it out, in any manner or form. His city of Antiva, his home and love over all, seemed lifeless. Dull. Food tasted of ash and everywhere he turned he saw Rinna. Dead and dying in an alley, spinning in a lazy circle under the trees, tying up her corset with expert and ever so lovely hands.

Now, however … Now things were different.

Two months seemed like an age.

He went to his window, open wide to let the air in and quell the stifling of the room. The Arl had appointed them all very lavish suites, but after so long on the road, it merely felt constricting. He padded his bare feet onto the balcony and leaned over the side, watching the servants scurry about the lawn. It really was a lovely night despite the threat of a winter chill.

_I__'__m __still __looking __for __them __eyes __to __meet __me __at __the __end __of __the __line__. __Is __it __going __to __be __the __ones__, __the __whole __depth __of __the __winter __black__? __Is __it __going __to __be __the __ones__, __the __whole __depth __of __the __ocean __blue__? __Now __if __I __came __upstairs __with __you __I __bet __I__'__ll __be __just __in __time __to __be __part __of __something __I__'__ll __regret the__whole of my __life__. __It __wouldn__'__t __be __the __first __time __that __I __made __a __mistake __in __my __life__. __In __fact __I __learned __how __to __make __a __living __out __of __making __mistakes__. __Besides __you __got __such __pretty __eyes__, __for __a __snake__, __and __I__'__m __still __looking __for __them __eyes__._

He wondered if he were dreaming, hearing Rinna's song. She had written it for him when they met on their very first job. He did not know if other bards knew it, but they must to hear it so far south. It made the breath in his chest go freezing cold and still. The sound was close, just on the balcony above. He knew it was Denna, knew it would be a mistake, but he climbed the trellis anyway and continued to listen.

"Am I foolish, Farkas?" She said with the sound of splashing water. "I must be."

Zevran heard the mabari whine a little, confused over his mistress' questions.

"I can't be unfair, now can I?" She sighed and it sounded as though she was sinking into the water. "We're dying, you know. Tomorrow, the day after, the day after that … It would be wrong to … _Ah_, what am I saying? He's only glad I didn't kill him."

He heard her leave the tub, the song still a hum in her throat. Funny how it did not conjure painful memories of Rinna and not even that familiar and synonymous dull ache resounded in his bones. Unbidden to his mind flashed the vision he saw of her first, perched on a rock by the water, naked and warm, pale skin marred by little silver scars. In truth, he had thought then that killing such a beautiful creature would have been travesty. And now, he …

"Zev?" She was at the balcony, standing before him wrapped in a silken robe with wild wet hair loose about her shoulders. He never noticed that it was truly long, trailing down past her waist. She always kept it up in buns and braids and pushed it out of her eyes as though she wished to shave her head. "What are you doing here?"

"Where did you learn that song?" He willed his voice not to break, but it did.

"My cousin … she was visiting a year ago and …"

"Your cousin?"

"Yes. Rinna Tabris." She crossed her arms over her chest to stifle the chill in the air. "Why?"

"Rinna." He ran shaking fingers through his hair, which was loose from its usual braids. "Denna … Rinna was … She was the reason I came to Ferelden." He laughed, though the situation was far from funny. "Her death was the reason I took the contract on the Wardens."

"Rinna is dead?"

"Yes."

"_How?_"

"A job." He said, feet twitching to run far as he could get. "We were … partners. Rinna, myself and Taliesin." An owl called out. "Taliesin told me she had betrayed us. I … got her killed." He had no idea what to do with his hands so they stayed at his sides, clenched into fists. "She begged me, she … told me she loved me. And I killed her. I watched her die with a smile on my face." He was close to hysterics now and any moment he was sure Denna would push him away. He would deserve that too. "After, Taliesin confessed that she had never betrayed us."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you kill me? Why did you spare me? You should have." Hands went to his eyes to cover them. "_You __should __have__._"

Her small hands wrapped around him, settling on his back. They made small circles and he could feel the incredible warmth through his thin shirt. She was hushing him, staving off his keening sobs with the patience and delicacy one can only find from mothers. His legs went out beneath him and she caught him, sinking down with him and holding him against her.

Zevran felt his hands on the collar of her robe and his fingers knotted there and his head found the small spot in her clavicle where it fit just so. He wept then, for Rinna, for Taliesin and for her - it was clear she had lost just as much.

And all the while she cooed to him, hushed him and told him it was okay.


	12. Chapter 12

He woke from a dreamless sleep. The sun had not yet risen and the fire in the hearth was down to ashes alone. He sat up and blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his brain. Then he saw her. She was still sleeping, mouth parted slightly and fiery hair in disarray among the mountain of down pillows. It seems in sleep she is a thief, sequestering them all for her own neck. No wonder he had such a crick now.

He made a move to leave the bed and it creaked, stirring her slightly.

"Is it morning?" She asked with a yawn.

"Not yet."

"Good." She rolled over and _hmm__'__d_, letting sleep take her once more.

He stretched and threw on his tunic, the fabric gone cold overnight. How long has it been since he slept with a woman and did no more than actually sleep? Years, he considered, not since he was a boy. He plucked around her room, rekindling the fire and calling for a servant to bring them breakfast.

The small sitting area was spread with maps and various parchments, sealed by this noble and that, all granting the Wardens men, resources and lodging. They were old documents, some crumbling around the edges. They would be of little use while only two remained in the whole of Ferelden.

She woke up when the maid returned with a heaping plate of fresh fruits and still-warm bread. Denna slogged herself over to the small sitting area and wrapped the silken robe tighter around her neck. She looked dazed in the morning, a small wonder as she was usually the first to wake.

"Oh, fresh grapes." She mused when her bleary eyes blinked into focus. "I haven't had these since I was a little girl." She cheerfully popped two into her mouth and shut her eyes to languish at the taste.

Zevran sat with his chin in hand and watched her, occasionally picking at the bread. They had spent the night talking. They had not talked of Rinna after his confession and he was glad of it. But, speaking of it had been a relief. It was as though a heavy weight was gone from his shoulders. He felt he could mourn her now. The guilt would never leave him, he knew, but it would dull over time.

She had told him, _'__All __wounds __heal__. __Even __the __ones __that __don__'__t__.'_

He smiled at her on the memory, prompting her eyebrows to travel up to her hairline. The vision of doe-struck eyes sent him into snickers and she joined him easily after that.

"What are we laughing at?" She said between giggles.

"Your face, fair Denna." She snorted and reached across the table to slap him. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her half over the table. "You have such expressions that I cannot help but laugh."

"Oh. Is that so?" She said, playfully struggling to get loose from his grip. "Well your nose is off-kilter. Sits a little to left."

"And you have a gap in your teeth wide enough to whistle through." He was showing all his teeth in an easy grin, something he had done in many years. And, at his comment she began to whistle. Through the gap in her teeth.

"Denna, are you awake -" The door opened with a heavy swing and Alistair stood in the frame, looking between the pair of them. "Sorry, I … I didn't mean to …"

Just as soon as he arrived, he turned heel and walked away with a blush loud enough to shock away their revelry. Zevran still held her wrist and she still leaned over the table, silken robe falling slightly from her shoulders. Precarious it would seem to the hapless would-be-templar, Zevran imagined. Denna slipped from him easily and adjusted her robe with a hot red painted across her cheeks.

"_Well_," she breathed out. "That's going to bite me later, isn't it?" She nervously smoothed her hair and it seemed she was no longer able to look at him.

"I think perhaps I have stayed too long." He said as he stood. "I will … leave you to your breakfast, fair Warden."

"Denna." She corrected, as was their custom as he made his retreat.


	13. Chapter 13

Morrigan could cut the tension with a knife. With a blunt stick, even. Something must have happened overnight. At dinner the previous evening, everything was in place - Denna and Alistair were discussing which mountain path to take to Orzammar, Wynne was pestering Sten over the treatment of qunari mages and the Orlesian and assassin were discussing the finer points of some Antivan knife game he was so very adamant about.

Now, no one spoke. Alistair's eyes were more forlorn than they had ever been before and there was curious distance between Denna and her assassin. It was as though they were being purposeful in their avoidance and Morrigan knew right then something had definitely transpired. Had she misjudged Denna? The woman she had previously thought to be far beyond brilliant considering where she had come from - had she succumbed to the assassin's infernal flirtations?

Morrigan clucked her tongue and shook her head, wondering just when they would stop for lunch if she would be able to get Denna alone. She sighed as they walked, trying to remember when she had first considered the elven Warden a friend - her first friend, her only friend. It was still a strange concept, but she had an attachment to the little elf and … Morrigan respected her.

A strange burst of anger flashed through her then, along with the assassin's face. Morrigan supposed this was like the tales, the friend who defends the other from the designs of wolfish men. But, Denna did not seem the type to need protecting. And she had been nearly married before joining the Wardens. Perhaps this was just … release? Morrigan understood that much, truly.

"Alistair," Denna's voice interrupted Morrigan's thoughts. "Keep heading North, I'm going to see if there's a game trail nearby." The idiot knight nodded and watched Denna melt into the dense trees lining the little mountain path. He sighed when she was gone, and gave the Orlesian a knowing look.

"So what is going to keep you from poisoning your target now that you have been allowed to accompany us, I wonder?" Zevran startled slightly when she approached.

"You are. You will be watching me ever so closely to make sure I attempt no such thing." He put a dramatic hand over his heart and cast an inquisitive glance in her direction. He seemed to be appraising her, but for what purpose, she was unsure. It made no matter, she was going to be sure of his intentions even if he had no idea of them himself.

"And why would I do such a thing? Sneaking into our good graces in order to make another attempt is what I would do, were I you." It was a solid plan, really. After all, Mother was the queen of ill intent.

"And here I was becoming rather fond of the idea of you watching me closely." Zevran sighed and turned his eyes toward the clear sky, eyes marking the distance of the heavy snow clouds bearing down a day or two ahead.

"It would be a simple enough matter to poison the food in camp. Or cut our throats while we sleep." If the assassin were to try, she would gladly roast him alive. Perhaps the bloody mutt would like to have a few elven bones for toys. Morrigan smirked wickedly at the thought.

"You seem rather charmed by the idea." _Oh_, Morrigan thought, Mother _could_ use a new leather coat.

"It would seem an appropriate result of sparing your life." She shrugged, now unable to resist the grin that spread all the way to her eyes. She hoped it had the desired effect.

"Ah. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you then. The next time I am spared I will be sure to immediately turn upon my benefactors. Will that do?"

She shrugged again and walked away, a little spring added to her step.


	14. Chapter 14

Camp had settled to the usual quiet murmur with everyone at their places. Alistair had taken up tending the fire, it was Leliana's night to cook and it seemed that Sten, Wynne, Morrigan and the assassin had found themselves in conversation. Denna had taken Farkas the mabari on a hunt. He poked the embers with the end of a long stick and sighed - was it a lost cause? He cared for Denna, much more than he rightly should, but she … it seemed she was rather close with the assassin.

Alistair wished she would see him for what he was. He wished she would open her eyes and know that his oath was worth next to nothing. Zevran was biding his time, waiting for them to become complacent and then he would strike. Is that not what the assassins of legends did in every tale?

"Alistair," Leliana cut into his thoughts with an outstretched hand, "would you mind passing that batch of flax, please?" He did, not even sure he knew what flax was, but it seemed to be what he chose as she thanked him in that lilting Orlesian tone.

"So, I'm wondering something." He began, not looking at the former Chantry sister but into the fire itself which looked so remarkably like the color of Denna's hair. It almost seemed that the elven woman's head was ablaze. "What exactly does a woman see in a man like Zevran?"

Leliana quirked her brow and slowed her stirring of the pot. "Oh, I suppose he's handsome enough for some. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Alistair waved his hands dismissively. "It's just … doesn't he seem a bit much? I mean, the hair, the clothing …" At this, Alistair glanced over where the assassin sat with Morrigan, Wynne and Sten, curiously enough, the qunari seemed to be smirking.

"I don't understand." Leliana had stopped her cooking to fully look at Alistair now. "A bit too much what? Do you have a problem with him?" She too looked over, now in wonder as it seemed even Morrigan was enjoying herself with the frivolous folly of a card game.

"Beyond the fact that he's an assassin? That he tried to kill us? No … no, not really." He sighed, this was not going the way he had hoped. "Do women like that sort of thing?"

Leliana chuckled and resumed stirring the stew. "Where I come from, yes. _Oh yes_, they do."

"Huh, really?" Alistair had hoped it was just … an elven thing, not that he would ever say that aloud, what with Denna's sensitivity about those things. He understood, somewhat, how hard it could be when you were different from everyone else, but at least he was human and could hide in crowd. "So …" he began again, "you're female, Leliana, right?"

The former Chantry sister snorted, "I am? That's news. When did that happen?" She shook her head - the boy could be truly hopeless sometimes.

"I just wanted some advice." Alistair shook out his hands in apology, prompting another chortle from her. "What do I do if … if I think a woman is special and -"

"You want to woo her?" Leliana had a hand on her hip and was waggling the wooden spoon in his face. She looked much like the Revered Mother back at the monastery. It was a most disturbing sight. "Here's a tip: You shouldn't question her … _female-ness_."

"All right," he sighed, this did not quite go right at all. "Fair point."

"_Fair point, he says,_" Leliana scoffed. "Why do you ask, are you afraid things will not proceed naturally?" She resumed her cooking, which Alistair considered a good sign and lucky to boot as he could feel his face grow very hot.

"Why would they? Especially when I do things like ask women if they are female." At this rate, he would never have a chance with Denna. Zevran outstripped him in most everything that had to do with people of the fairer sex. _Bloody __hells_, he couldn't even think the word without his hands trembling.

Leliana clucked her tongue, "It adds to your charm, Alistair. You are … a little awkward, yes? I think it is quite endearing." She had begun slicing up the potatoes - a wonderful find when they had come across a small village cut into the mountain. The farmer had said not to risk the winter going much further, but seeing as they were Wardens, Alistair had told the man they had little choice.

"So I should be awkward? Didn't you just say not to do things like that?" Was Leliana screwing with his head? That could very well be, it seemed anything involving Denna made his head spin these days.

"Oh Alistair, just be yourself. You can do that much, yes?" Leliana seemed to be completely enthralled by chopping the potatoes and was mincing them into neat little squares.

"All right, all right," he sighed in a huff, "forget I asked."

He opened his mouth to speak further, to convince Leliana he was not doomed, but a shrill scream tore through the camp. It sounded a mile, perhaps a mile and a half west but the sound was so ear-shattering Alistair felt his teeth chatter.

Conversation stopped as the echo died off in the trees. For a full second it seemed that it was nothing, a trick of the wind, but all that was lost when the dog's mad bark took up in its place.


	15. Chapter 15

Denna tracked the deer a solid sixty paces before Farkas shot off, chasing the startled doe into the dense thicket. She cursed and let her bow hang loose at her side. One more moment and she would have bagged the beauty and they could have eaten kingly all the way to the doors of Orzammar. Might have even had to roll each other from how fat they would have become.

She took a single step and froze. She made an attempt to lift her foot, but could not. It came over her quickly, the feeling of ice cold water soaking through her skin as though she were made of cloth. Then, the sensation shot upward, lightning fast and began to claw at her neck and just behind her eyes. The pain was so intense she screamed. Denna fell forward and tasted dirt and damp leaves and her eyes remained open long enough to see the soft slippers, mud stained and sloshing, line up with her vision.

"Well well," she heard, just before all went pleasantly black.

* * *

"Alistair," Morrigan called his name as he stood. "That would be Farkas." The witch, whom he did not really care for, actually seemed worried. She too, was on her feet and striding in such a way as though to keep calm, toward him.

"Yes." He answered through his clenched teeth. "Did you feel that?"

They heard a hollow yelp before Morrigan could answer. This set Alistair's feet into motion. He was vaguely aware of the others following, Morrigan shouting to the dwarven merchants to pull up stake and to hide. He felt a tiny inkling of pride for the swamp witch, she seemed to be rather capable despite her prickly and mostly disinterested nature. But he had little time for such tedious observations, as another cry broke through the trees, a bit closer than it was before.

Alistair had felt blood magic. This was not the dull static shock he had felt in the Tower, where the Veil had been torn, this was what his former templar brothers had warned him about - this was true evil manifested. Morrigan had felt it too and the sensation had frightened her.

He felt the others following the wails, which were getting louder. The sound was piercing and it carried through the thick trees as though it were right next to his head. A selfish thought crossed his mind then, that he would be the only Warden left. That the Blight would be his sole responsibility - along with the crown. Selfish as it was, it moved him that much faster.

"Stop!" He heard. "Stop or she dies!" The man held Denna with a knife at her throat. Alistair stopped when he saw Denna's eyes - the clearwater blue was tinged red and wide, they were afraid. They met his own and flashed to the bloodied body of Farkas, the mabari she had saved back at Ostagar. They must have struck him first.

"Let her go!" Alistair bellowed and it only made the man who held her grin. The knife bit deeper into the soft skin of Denna's neck and she whimpered.

"Walk away, ser." The man said dangerously. "It's her we want." The man nodded and more of his fellows came out the shadows of the trees. The small clearing bloomed with magical light and Alistair's head began to feel muddy. He vaguely heard the others coming, not more than a few seconds after.

"Why do you want her?" Alistair asked, though his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he was sure he sounded drunk. How inappropriate for this situation.

The man laughed, cold and callous, it resounded in the small clearing and his fellows echoed it harshly. Morrigan was at his right, clearly feeling the effects of whatever the men were casting and Zevran to his left, hands on his curved blades. He turned them idly.

"Walk away, I'll not tell you again." He turned his chin toward the man nearest and the footsoldier's fist connected with Denna's jaw. His fist was bathed in lightning and the effect was instantaneous - Denna screamed and the smell of burnt flesh flooded into his nose.

"_Son … of … a … bitch!_" Denna squeaked out and struggled against the man that held her, though it was futile, his grip was ironclad and she was blinded from the flash of lightning against her face. "_END THIS BASTARD._" She swung wildly and managed to loosen his hold.

"As you wish, Fel'Denna." Zevran spoke suddenly and Alistair turned just in time to see a small silver object fly from his hands and into the man's neck.

Chaos erupted all around them. Alistair swung out with his sword, cursing that he had decided it was a fine night to sleep without his armor. Morrigan unleashed a torrent of her own lightning and Leliana added her volley of arrows. Alistair pivoted left and saw Denna crawling under the fray to the side, her face covered in a mask of blood. Zevran was there in an instant, popping from the shadows to pull her further away from the fight.

"Morrigan, get down!" He called and she did, barely evading the Holy Smite he had been holding back. The mages fell afterward, unmoving and most assuredly dead. Alistair heaved and tossed his sword aside as Zevran pitched Denna's lolling head in his lap. Wynne had come from somewhere and the smell and shiver of the woman's powerful healing magic lit the dark dense wood in golden tones.


	16. Chapter 16

"_Are __you__ … __nervous__?"_

"_Terrified__, __actually__."_

"_So __am __I__."_

"_Can__'__t __be __all __bad__, __right__?"_

"_No__, __I __just__ … __I __did __not __know __you __were __so __beautiful__."_

"_I__'__m__ … __not__."_

"_You __are__. __I __will __spend __the __rest __of __my __life __trying __to __make __you __happy__, __Denna Tabris__. __I __swear __it__."_

Denna woke with bandages around her eyes and a breathing, heavy fur-covered weight by her legs. She guessed it was Farkas and let out a small sigh of relief to know that he was not dead. He was probably healing too. She lay still, Nelaros' handsome face still clinging to the part of her mind still sleeping. It was quiet save for the little chirping birds - _Morning_, she thought.

She felt her hands, finding a small comfort in the simple golden band she wore. She had never married him, but she would have. She had even wanted to. She removed the ring and felt the inscription, one he had done with his own hands - strong and calloused, blacksmith hands. She traced the intricate swirls of lettering, knowing in her mind's eye it was her name and his, curled together like vines.

"Denna?" She heard Morrigan outside the tent.

"Yes," she croaked, her throat dry and sore. "I'm awake."

"May I enter?" Denna would have laughed if it did not hurt so much to smirk.

"Yes."

She heard Morrigan shuffle against the canvas tent and make her way inside. Denna was aware of the woman scratching at the dog's head from the pleased _whoof_ he made. Then the witch sat next to Denna and put a warm cloth over her face. She could feel the dirt and grime being sluiced away and was amazed at how gentle the normally sour woman was being.

"How long?" Denna asked after Morrigan gave her a small drink of water. It hurt to swallow.

"Three days." Morrigan said as she brought the cup to the elven woman's lips. "We have moved camp twice since you have been unconscious."

"Will I …" Denna wanted to ask about her eyes but the words would not form in her mouth. She opened them but only felt the bandages tight where she should have been able to see.

"Yes, in a few days I should think those wrappings can be removed." Morrigan sighed. "The elder sheep says you are very lucky. You nearly lost your sight."

"And the rest?" Denna remembered Zevran's hands, how wet they felt. She was sure he had taken at least a swipe from one of the maleficar's blades.

"Your assassin is fine. Complaining of his hands, of course, but fine." The witch sighed again, a little more dramatically than before. "You were the only ones injured."


	17. Chapter 17

An entire week had passed since the blood mages had tried to take Denna. And she had been in her tent, recovering as Morrigan had said with a snide turn in her chin. Zevran had made himself useful despite the deep gashes in the palms of his hands and helped the Warden's party move camp up the mountainside. Three days ago, the rain started and they were lucky they were only a day or two away from the gates to Orzammar. His only true worry was over Denna and if she would be well enough in order to go underground.

And so it was, just as he returned from successfully hunting four large hares with Denna's old bow - he saw her emerge from her tent. She wore a threadbare tunic-style dress, kept loose around her arms and legs where the maelficars had cut away long, thin patches of her skin.

She was supported by Morrigan, leaning on the scantily-clad woman's arm and her eyes were no longer bandaged but remained closed. He could not help the relieved smile he wore at the disheveled sight.

"It's raining." He heard Denna say.

"It has been, for a fortnight." Morrigan answered.

"I hate when it rains."

The scantily-clad witch sat the elven woman on the log nearest to the fire. She looked pale and emaciated and the sour turn in her full lips was disconcerting at best.

"Are you hungry, Denna?" To see Morrigan dote on the woman was near too much. It seemed the witch was strained and the elven woman had lost her spark. This did not bode well. What face would she show the dwarven deshyrs? A face of malady, like the one she bore now?

"No." Denna said simply, turning her face toward the sky.

"You must eat." Morrigan kept her tongue at a low hiss.

"There are many things I must do. Eating, is not one of those things." Denna sighed, turning a blinded face toward the fire. "I must thwart a Blight. I must save a world where my kind are looked at as scum betwixt toes. I must sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice a little more, just to be regarded. And even then, to what end? What awaits me, Morrigan? Death? At hands of darkspawn, blood mages, raging noble lordlings now or later, I see no difference."

"Then walk off blinded to the woods, _Warden_. Leave us to Alistair if you are so inclined."

"_Oh yes_, in the hands of a moron shall ye be guided!" The little elven woman smirked something haughty and stood. She whistled quickly and the mabari was at her heels, licking the rain from her bare legs. She leaned on him and returned to her tent, a little uneasy on unused legs. The witch too, retreated to her own tent, stomping past the Qunari who didn't even turn an eye toward the display.

The knight in question looked on, and Zevran was surprised. Instead of offense, he wore a sad expression, one that marked the edges of his eyes.

"He fancies her." Leliana hummed into the cookpot. "But alas, the shining knight does not know how to catch a fleeting doe." Zevran took in the Chantry Sister's soft profile and they way she spoke to the food and not to him.

"Stumbling and awkward he may be, but even one as her would eventually succumb to such awkward charms, no?"

Leliana smiled, adding a dash of something sweet smelling to the stew. "Not Denna, not the fearless and peerless roguish woman bent on leading us into the very sights of hell."

"Colorful, sister." He smirked, stretching and standing and itching his mangled hands. "But she is still a woman. A woman unaccustomed to such praises of man."


	18. Chapter 18

Denna made it to her tent though her eyes remained closed. It simply hurt too much to open them, even though Morrigan and Wynne both claimed she was back up to par. _Mages_, she muttered to herself. She had not known what the maleficars had wanted with her, but she could guess – a whole cadre of guesses, in fact. Each more devious than the last. As if darkspawn, a civil war and social unrest weren't enough – now they had magical banditry to plague every step and turn their little band of miscreants made.

The small elf flopped onto her heap of furs, Farkas dutifully joining her. Her fingers sought the fine hairs along the back of his neck and set to stroke them. Morrigan had a point. She could not wander off into the woods without her sight. She was weakened too, a number of days spent unconscious had strained her muscles and demolished her spirit. Not that it hadn't been dwindling already – not that it hadn't since long before reaching Ostagar.

"Denna," the soft voice spoke beyond her tent. Alistair.

"Come in." She did not rise as he entered, nor did she make room for him to sit.

"Are you going to leave?" He asked. She could hear him fidgeting with his hands.

"No." She answered sourly. "I just –"

"I would understand." He cut off her further explanation, even though she did not truly have one. "Being a Warden … it's hard. Very trying work, I know. And you ..." he sighed or huffed, the sound indistinguishable. "I know all this, leading us, fighting around every corner – I know it isn't easy." He stepped closer, kneeling down to her level and reaching for her hand. He gave a gentle squeeze. "But, even despite that, you've carried us along the way, without complaint." She snickered despite herself. "Well, all right, not much complaining then."

"I'm sorry, Alistair."

"Why?"

"This is my life now. Our life. I … I know I can't go back to the way it was before." She made herself to sit and lean against the tent pole and did not let go of his hand. It was warm. It was comforting. It was something she needed and hadn't realized she did. "Is it wrong that I want to just forget all this and go home?"

"Of course not." Alistair answered her almost immediately and shifted closer. He brought up his other hand and cupped hers gingerly. She could feel the slight nervousness in his fingers. "You never speak of it, but … it must have been hard to leave your family behind."

"It was." Her breath caught sharply in the back of her throat. "They were everything to me."

"Indeed." He chuckled slightly. "Even for me, leaving the Chantry was … surreal. I had wanted to run away so many times, but I never did." She could sense him smiling. "When Duncan took me away though, even if it was precisely what I wanted, I was sad."

"Sad about never getting to scrub pots again?" She chortled and sighed, "Sorry, sorry – I couldn't resist that."

"Oh, I've scrubbed many since, never mind your worry over that." He bumped her shoulder with his own and she realized then how close he really was. "But, that place had been my entire life. Even if I hated it. Even if I wanted nothing more than to leave – it was still difficult."

"I … I was always the one who looked after my cousins. And my Da, but … now …"

"Now you look after all us misfits." An arm wrapped around her shoulders and she leaned into it. With the small gesture of closeness came a pocket of silence that Denna reveled in. No chattering compatriots, no nearby & apparent threat. Just them – just like it was before Ostagar fell.

"Oh!" Alistair snapped his fingers and shifted excitedly. "I have something for you. Open your hands." As his fingers slipped from hers, so did the pleasant warmth that had come along with them.

"What is it?" She asked, though she had an idea – softness, fragility, a long stem – it was a flower.

"A rose. A very red one, in fact."

"Why are you giving this to me?" She held it close to her chest, slender fingers curling protectively around the delicate petals. "No one has ever given me a flower before. They scarcely grow in the Alienage."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Well I – I've had it since Lothering actually." She could hear him shift nervously and smiled, hoping it conveyed that she was not at all displeased by the gift. "It was the only thing growing in a patch of weeds and well … it reminded me of you." As he spoke, his voice became quieter, softer and she could practically hear the redness across the bridge of his nose intensifying. "All around us is death, but you – you are the one bright spot in this whole mess." He stood quickly, nearly toppling a sleeping mabari in the process. "I just – I wanted you to know that … No matter what, I'm here for you. Until the end."

"T-thanks, Alistair." Now it was Denna's turn to blush.


End file.
